


Christmas Spirit

by Lullabylily



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Christmas, HP: EWE, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-17
Updated: 2012-03-17
Packaged: 2017-11-02 02:14:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/363880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lullabylily/pseuds/Lullabylily
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco fled to Muggle Paris after the end of the Voldemort War. Months later, Harry Potter tries to bring him home, per Narcissa’s desire. He has no idea what he has gotten himself into…</p>
            </blockquote>





	Christmas Spirit

**Christmas Spirit**

 

**Part 1**  
  
The street was endless and every building on it looked exactly the same. Harry already knew he was wearing the wrong shoes for this misadventure; the leather was soaked from the snow that covered the pavement and his feet were quickly turning to popsicles. The only thing that got him to the very end of the street was being able to mutter, ‘Malfoy, bloody, bloody Malfoy’, over and over again. Yes, the few people he crossed did look at him funny, but they were doing so before they heard him talk to himself.   
  
Finally he reached number 3. Harry made a last mental note to never again rely on his map-reading skills before apparating. Ending up at entirely the wrong end of the street had been the nail on his coffin, after having waited for ages for an international portkey, taking a Eurostar train out of pure frustration, a confusing trip down the Parisian Metro and being yelled at in a language he barely understood.  
  
But there it was: number 3 Boulevard Suchet, one of many majestic apartment buildings that could be found in the Parisian XVIème arrondissement.  
  
He wasn’t going to bother ringing the doorbell, if only because he couldn’t figure out what to say when Draco  _would_ answer. ‘Hi, this is Harry Potter, remember me from school?’ Even though Harry suspected Malfoy did not possess a wand right now, he was carrying the man’s wand in the pocket of his own winter coat, he wouldn’t be foolish enough to deem Draco incapable of hexing him wandlessly, if Harry was careless enough to provoke him.   
  
The apartment had to be the penthouse, of course. Harry read the gold plaque on the door:  _Alistair Malfoy – Avocat depuis 1978_. Harry couldn’t imagine any Frenchman wanting to hire a lawyer whose name meant ‘bad faith’ in their language, but then again, if Alistair could afford living in the 16ème he must have had quite a few well-paying clients.  
  
When Narcissa had told him the Malfoy family had a squib sibling living in France, earning a living as a lawyer, Harry’s eyes had popped out of his skull. But Narcissa’s icy look had stilled the hysteric laughter bubbling up his throat.   
  
Harry knew he couldn’t just ‘Alohomora’ the door open. It would be rude. But he couldn’t risk Draco not opening the door either.. He’d come this far; he was not going to leave without successfully delivering Narcissa’s message.   
  
Harry finally opted to simply knock the door and wait to see what would happen. If Draco ignored it, he could still find a magical way to get his attention. All of this was, of course, assuming that Draco  _had_  indeed taken up residence in this apartment.   
  
Harry nearly fell over in surprise when Draco Malfoy did open the door; seconds after he’d knocked on the wooden surface.   
  
What followed was an awkward silence as they stared at one another. Really. He was  _expecting_  Draco; therefore he shouldn’t be the shocked one. Draco, on the other hand, had no idea Harry had been looking for him. Yet the blond man looked at him with a calm, if somewhat morose look.   
  
“Hi…” Harry finally muttered. Because it was customary to start the conversation when you were the one at the door, right? Even in France?  
  
“Come to arrest me at last, have you Potter.”  
  
It wasn’t a question. Draco left the door open, but retreated inside. Harry assumed the open door was an invitation to enter as well, so he followed Draco inside.   
  
“What does one pack for a trip to Azkaban?” Draco asked, though Harry wasn’t sure the question was directed at him. If Draco had been living in Paris on his own all these months, it was hardly surprising he’d taken up a habit of talking to himself.  
  
“I mean. I doubt I’ll need any formal clothes. A toothbrush, maybe? Are blankets allowed? Books?”  
  
Harry followed Draco into his bedroom. Well, he followed Malfoy, ending up in the bedroom was wholly unintentional.  
  
“I haven’t come to arrest you.” Harry said finally, because Draco was already tucking some items in a leather handbag.   
  
Draco slowly put down the sweater he was holding (Slytherin green – obviously) and stared at Harry.  
  
“What have you come for then, Potter?”  
  
“I…” Harry was suddenly very aware of the strange setting they were in. Still, he could have just blurted out Narcissa’s message, but something told him Draco wouldn’t be very receptive to it just now. “Your mum sent me. Could we maybe sit down for a moment?”  
  
Draco stared at him for a long moment, it was clear that he was trying to read Harry’s mind. For a moment Harry was concerned Draco  _was,_  in fact, reading his mind, but then he decided that Draco had never been  _that_  talented and casting Legilimency wandlessly  _and_  wordlessly wouldn’t really be up Draco’s alley.  
“Fine.”  
  
Harry followed Draco out into the living room. There Harry realized for the first time how positively huge the apartment was. The living room was so unlike Draco that Harry stared at it for a moment before choosing one of the sofas to sit on. Most striking was the abundance of red and gold, most notably on the fireplace and curtains. The sofas were a strange; slightly eccentric looking white and Harry realized with a pang that this wasn’t Draco’s taste but Alistair’s. An unknown squib with a lot of muggle money who obviously preferred white sofas because they were expensive. Draco would never choose Gryffindor colours to adorn his own living space.  
  
“What happened to Alistair?” Harry had asked the question before he made the conscious decision to do so, but taking in the distinctly un-Malfoy like room had brought back the memory of the unknown man with persistence.   
  
Draco settled deeper into his sofa, his eyes still transfixed on Harry. “He fled to the Caribbean the moment I turned up on his doorstep,” he replied lazily. “I’m sure he’s fine. He just… doesn’t have many fond memories of the Malfoy family gatherings.”  
  
Harry snorted. He could vividly imagine those pureblood Malfoys blasting Alistair from their family tree. “So you’ve been living here on your own all this time?”  
  
Draco’s eyebrows rose and he let out a sigh before answering, “What, Potter? Are you working for some social services these days? Did that Mudblood Granger talk you into a job like that?”  
  
Harry felt a rush of heat rise to his head at the mention of ‘that Mudblood Granger’, but he repressed it. Really. He was too old to have that teenage temper he used to have. But he still had to bite his cheek to prevent some scathing reply from escaping his lips.  
  
“As I told you, Malfoy, I’m here because your mother asked me to look for you. She wants you to come home, to England.”  
  
“Does she now?” Draco averted his gaze.   
  
Harry was frustrated to get so little a reaction out of Malfoy. “She wants you to abandon this ridiculous, self-imposed exile.”  
  
Draco’s eyes locked with his once more; Malfoy’s expression a strange, sarcastic grin, “Look around you, Potter. This is hardly exile!”  
  
Harry had to agree. Malfoys obviously preferred to hide away in style. “I have to admit you’re better off than I first imagined when I heard you’d fled England. But do you even know anyone here? Do you even go out?”  
  
From the way Draco’s grin dissipated, Harry knew he struck home. Draco was lonely here. And Harry just wanted to pound that thick skull of his in order to make him admit to it.   
  
“I  _live_  here. I don’t have a home anywhere. At least I’m surviving.”  
  
Harry thought surviving was probably a big word when Draco was clearly lying in silken sheets and getting his belly filled with champagne and caviar, but the point was the man still didn’t see sense.   
  
“You do have a home. And it’s almost Christmas. Don’t you want to be home for that?”  
  
Draco’s face contorted as if he’d just ate something bitter. “Don’t make me want to puke, Potter. If I wanted chummy, sappy Christmas spirit I’d go to Disneyland.”  
  
Harry’s brain was still shorting out on having ‘Malfoy’ and ‘Disneyland’ in the same concept that it took awhile to form a suitable reply.  
  
Finally, because it appeared the whole ‘you’re lonely, won’t you come home’ tactic didn’t appear to be working, Harry decided on anger.  
  
“You are still such a selfish little coward, aren’t you Malfoy? You creep away from the wizarding world to hide away in some luxury, muggle apartment without even bothering to stop and think about your family.”  
  
Harry hadn’t realized he had stood up somewhere along his little speech until he noticed Malfoy do the same.  
  
“Don’t call me a coward, Potter! Just because I chose not to rot away in some prison hole for choosing the wrong side of a war!”  
  
Before Harry could interrupt, the blond man continued, “Don’t blame me for abandoning my parents. I would have stayed if I’d thought, even for a moment, that would have aided their case.”  
  
That was it. Enough was enough. “You talk as if you know the world, Malfoy. Yes, your father is in Azkaban.” Harry swallowed the,  _it’s no less than he deserves_ , because he understood now that Draco might still love his father.  
  
“Yes, Malfoy Manor may not be the childhood home you remember, but your mother is alive and well and wants you to be home for Christmas. She would have gladly given her life for you, so don’t pretend to be a bloody martyr, Malfoy.”  
  
From the way Draco was pacing the room while he spoke, Harry wasn’t even sure he had really listened to the words. But they seemed to have made some mark on the man because he sat down suddenly, paler than he had been before and for the first time Harry allowed himself to look at him. Really look at him. Malfoy had always looked pale and skinny and pointy, but now he looked closer he saw that maturity beyond his years, a trait that marred many a war survivor. He saw that tired, slightly haunted look. He saw insecurity in those gray eyes. Something Malfoy had always had, Harry realized with a pang, but he’d never really noticed before because he had never wanted to think of Malfoy as vulnerable.   
  
“My mother isn’t in prison?” Malfoy’s voice sounded shaken. The blond man sat down again, as if not trusting his legs to continue supporting weight.   
  
Harry sat down again as well. “She’s almost a war hero, Draco. The Ministry is monitoring her whereabouts and her use of magic, but essentially she’s a free woman. She helped turn the events at the Battle of Hogwarts… And she did it for you, Draco.”  
  
Malfoy stared at him. Harry realized the man might find it disconcerting that Harry called him by his first name. They never had been on first-name basis.   
  
“How do I know this isn’t a trap, Potter?” Malfoy protested, his eyes wide with distrust and hurt. “You want me back in England so that the Ministry can arrest me. Put another Death Eater behind bars. You can finally see my bullying you avenged.”  
  
Harry bit back his frustration. He’d known, really, that Draco would have never come along easily. “Yes, Malfoy. This is all some childish ploy of mine to get back at you for taunting me at school.” He started, letting the sarcasm taint his voice. “For real, Malfoy? I’m not surprised you think so little of me.”  
  
But Malfoy’s eyes still flashed angrily at him, not in the least insulted. “What reason have you ever given me to trust you, Potter?”  
  
And there it was, a cruel boomerang that rushed back and hit him straight in the stomach. Harry had to fight the memories of Draco lying bloodied on the bathroom floor.   
  
Harry tried to formulate a reply, tried to figure out what to say to gain Malfoy’s trust. But he couldn’t think of anything. Draco probably took his guilty look to mean that Harry had indeed come here in order to arrest him.   
  
“So, tell me Potter? What kind of  _welcoming committee_  will be awaiting me as soon as I set foot in England?”  
  
Harry snapped out of it on that cue, “No one but your mother is awaiting your return, Draco.” He’d decided to keep calling Draco by his first name; perhaps it would gain his trust. If not, it might annoy him, which Harry could live with as well. “Yes, some Ministry officials will owl you for sure; you’ll be on some sort of probation. But they won’t arrest you. You’ve been declared not guilty on most serious charges. You will face probation as a former Death Eater, but that will be all.”  
  
Draco now stared at him in earnest. Harry recognized hope when he saw it.   
  
‘I’ve been tried while I was away? How? How could I have escaped a prison sentence?’  
  
“You didn’t escape a prison sentence entirely, Draco. If you ever get caught using an Unforgivable – any Unforgivable – you’ll be in Azkaban for life. But if all goes well with your probation, you should be free to live your life in our world.”  
  
Draco’s eyes were searching and still full of disbelief. Harry thought back to Draco’s trial, executed in his absence. The fact that he had fled the country had been taken the wrong way by the Wizengamot and it had taken a lot to persuade them to give him a minor punishment. The wizarding world was not eager to forgive Draco for the part he’d played in Dumbledore’s death.  
  
“I… I don’t believe you, Potter.” Draco spat the words in Harry’s face, but it was clear that he  _wanted_  to believe Harry. Harry saw the yearning.   
  
“You have a choice, Draco. Let me get you a portkey straight home or tell me to go and I will… and you can enjoy Disneyland for all I care.” Harry realized setting an ultimatum like that might not be the most efficient way to get the result he wanted.   
  
But it seemed to work. Though Draco still looked at him disbelievingly he muttered softly, “Well… If I have your word, Potter?”  
  
“Of course you have my word,” Harry concurred enthusiastically.   
  
Draco stared at him a little while longer and then finally sighed. “I guess I can’t stay here forever.”  
  


**

  
Draco had managed to surprise Harry by only taking minutes to pack. ‘I didn’t have much time to pack when I left.’ Draco simply shrugged.  
  
“How  _did_  you get here so quickly?” And without a wand, Harry added in his head.   
  
“I made the portkey ages ago; In sixth year. I always figured I’d need a back-up plan.”  
  
Harry decided there was not time to admire Draco for his awareness at a young age.   
  
“I figured I’d use it with my parents... If things should get out of control… It was a simple handkerchief. I had it with me at all times and a simple word would have activated it. But… I don’t think my father wanted to abandon the cause… or our house.”  
  
Harry thought back to Malfoy Manor, but quickly retreated from those memories. He’d spend far from a happy time in that house. It made him shiver that one could get attached to that place.   
  
They took the stairs going down. Draco had worked out what the lift was for, but that didn’t entail trusting those muggle apparatuses (even though, he happily mentioned, he’d braved the toaster in Alistair’s apartment… until one day a piece of bread caught fire).  
  
The cool December air hit them both when they stepped outside. Draco’s eyes watered instantly from the wind and Harry wanted to laugh at the flushed cheeks against the pale skin of Malfoy’s pretty porcelain face.  
  
“We should find some means of transportation.”  
  
Draco stared at him. “I thought you said you had a portkey?”  
  
Draco sounded already accusing and Harry knew it wouldn’t take much for the boy to mistrust him again.  
  
“Yes. There is a portkey. But it’s not here. It’s in Luxembourg.”  
  
“Luxembourg?!” Draco exclaimed, ‘You brought me a portkey and left it in another country?’  
  
“No.. It’s a park… In Paris…” Harry hastily retorted.  
  
Draco was still frowning. “Fine. Let’s go there then. I hope you know the way.”  
  
 _You’re the one that’s been living in Paris all these months, not me._  Harry thought. But he’d already understood that Draco hadn’t been out of the apartment a lot. He knew the coordinates to apparate to the Jardin du Luxembourg. But he was afraid to force Draco in a side-along apparition when he’d obviously not touched magic for months.   
  
Harry had already spotted the car before he’d gone up to find Draco. But now it was as if the car was beckoning him. It looked clean and glistening in the moonlight. Above all it would be fast and it would shield them from the cold.  
  
“The car… Does it belong to your uncle?”  
  
“He’s not my uncle! He’s a distant, distant relative,” Draco started, “But yes. I do believe it belonged to him. He has a dozen books on old…  _cars_  upstairs.”  
  
‘”Well… We do need a ride…”  
  
Draco stared at him. Horrified. “No way! I wasn’t going in one of those lifts and I’m certainly not getting inside that thing!”  
  
Harry looked at the car. It was definitely an old-timer, though it appeared to have been kept in good condition. It sure looked like it was still in use. The deep green and silver colours of the car made it look like the perfect Slytherin vehicle. All previous doubts Harry had regarding Alistair Malfoy's blood ties with the Malfoys Harry knew, were erased from his mind. If the man had been a wizard, he'd have been sorted into Slytherin for sure.   
  
“Do you even know how to drive one of those?”  
  
“Not really,” Harry admitted, “But Arthur Weasley taught me a charm to make it fly and be invisible. And well… I  _did_  survive the last trip in a flying car.”  
  
To his surprise Draco remembered the incident Harry was referring to, “Survived?! You were nearly hacked to death by a fucking tree!”  
  
Harry knew he had a loopy grin plastered on his face. But Harry had made his decision and he could deal with Draco staring at him as if he was crazy. Oh. He could deal with Draco.   
  
**  
“You are insane and I hate you!”  
  
It was all Draco could utter the first minutes after they’d taken to the air, but after a while he fell silent and Harry saw him stare out the window, down on the city of Paris, illuminated all around. The City of Light, he remembered reading in the tour guide.   
  
“I never understood what those muggles wanted to achieve with that pile of metal, but I have to admit, the Eiffel Tower is pretty when it’s lit like that.”  
  
Harry joined Draco in looking at the sparkling tower and made an approving sound.  
  
“Paris is pretty.” Draco said softly.   
  
Harry wondered if Draco was sad to leave the city that had been his sanctuary for months.   
  
“It should be that big park over there.” Harry said, pointing to the trees and the clearing that would have to do as their landing track.  
  
Draco’s eyes widened. “If you land us in that fountain, Potter, I’m going to kill you.”  
  
Harry wanted to laugh away Draco's alarm. Instead, he gripped the wheel more firmly. He managed to stay away from the fountain, but did narrowly escape hitting a life-sized sculpture. The car swerved dangerously when they clearly hit a series of frozen-over puddles, but they were both still in one piece even after braving the muddy track that could now easily serve as an ice skating rink.  
  
“I’m never stepping in a car with you,  _ever_  again,” Draco stated as he got out of the car.   
  
“I got us here, didn’t I?” Harry said smugly. The realization that he'd done this while not even owning a driver’s license and using a very  _un_ official spell at that, making him giddy.   
  
“Besides, now I’ll be able to report to Arthur Weasley that the charm he developed works like a dream. He’ll be thrilled!”  
  
Draco stared at him looking sour. “You want to depress me Potter? I contributed to the happiness of  _Arthur Weasley_? I need to shower!”  
  
Harry didn’t repress the urge to roll his eyes. Strange how quickly he’d managed to forget what a drama-queen Draco Malfoy could be.  
  
“And where did you bring me? A completely deserted park? Is this the part where you kill me? Are you going to bury my body under one of those painfully ridiculous looking sculptures?”  
  
It looked like once Malfoy started to rant he was unstoppable.   
  
“The park is closed-off to muggles for the night. I’m meeting my contact here, the one I had arrange the portkey.”  
  
“And you told him to be here tonight or sometime in the next century?”  
  
It was clear that travelling by muggle devices did nothing to improve Draco’s mood.   
  
“I told him to be here at seven… It’s five minutes past, but I believe the French are into the whole  _being fashionably late_ thing.”  
  
Draco stared at him and then finally sought a bench to sit down on whilst they wait for the portkey to arrive.  
  
“Were you that convinced that you’d get me out my apartment and flown across to the other end of Paris in such a short amount of time, Potter?”  
  
Harry didn’t feel like pointing out that the Eurostar, Parisian Metro and his non-existing map-reading skills had jointly conspired against him that evening so he shrugged his shoulders, “I’m just swimming in confidence, Malfoy.”  
  
Malfoy just raised his eyebrows.   
  
"Good evening, Mister Malfoy, sir!"  
  
An inhumanly high-pitched voice behind them spoke. Draco turned around to face the creature, his nose wrinkling at the sight of the house-elf. "Who are you? How do you know my name?"  
  
"My name is Lionel. At your service."  
  
Draco opened his mouth but Harry stepped up to Lionel to shake the elf's hand. "Thank you very much for meeting me on such short notice, Lionel."  
  
Draco hadn't shut his mouth, he stared from Harry to Lionel for a moment. "Your Parisian contact is a  _house-elf_?!"  
  
"Not just any house-elf, Master Draco," Lionel squealed, "Lionel and his family have been serving Malfoys for centuries."  
  
"What an idea, Potter," Draco spat.  
  
"It was your mother's idea, actually." Harry grinned. He rather thought he liked Lionel. It seemed such a paradox that the Malfoys got such nice house-elves. "Lionel can provide you with a portkey that takes you directly within the Malfoy Manor wards."  
  
Draco stared at the silver cup Lionel produced. "An ancient Malfoy heirloom, my lord."  
  
"My mother..." Draco started, "She's very thorough."   
  
"If there was ever any doubt that she really wants you home..." Harry added.  
  
Draco was quiet for a moment, seemingly lost in thought.  
  
"Right. So how does this work?"  
  
"You'll take the cup and I'll count down to five. Then my magic will activate the portkey, sir." Lionel explained.   
  
"Good. Let's do this."   
  
There was a nervous edge to Draco's voice. He grabbed the cup Lionel held out for him and Harry knew that if he'd been standing closer by, he'd have seen Draco's hands tremble visibly.   
  
"Stay back, Mister Potter." Lionel instructed before he began counting down.  
  
“Oh, and Draco,” Harry yelled, even though he was positioned only four feet away from the Slythering boy and the house-elf, “catch this!”  
  
Without letting go of the portkey, Draco’s left hand flew up to seize the item Harry had thrown at him, the speed of his actions telltale of Draco’s past training as a seeker.   
  
In the light of the Parisian sky, Harry took in Draco’s surprised look as the latter looked down at his wand. The wand he had lost to Harry almost a year before.   
  
“Merry Christmas.” Harry smiled. Their eyes met, but before Draco could respond he was gone.

 

**Part 2**  
  
A year ago Harry hadn’t even been aware of the coming and going of holidays like Christmas or Halloween. They’d been part of his Hogwarts life and that life had been over.   
  
Now, he was painfully aware of the stack of letters hogging the table. Most of them were from Hermione, begging him to come to Christmas Eve dinner at the Burrow. Hermione, saying she would arrange a blind-date for Harry, not so subtly letting him know that she knew he’d want it to be a boy. Harry had carefully replied that he wasn’t sure that was a good idea, but Hermione had argued that she knew him well enough to find someone suitable. Finally, Harry had firmly let everyone know that he’d decided to spend Christmas Eve at home, rather than turning up at the Burrow as the only guest without a partner. He’d promised to be present on Christmas day, when Charlie would portkey in from Romania. With Charlie there, Harry wouldn’t be the only bachelor.   
  
He would use his free evening to continue decorating his newly acquired Diagon Alley flat, finish writing some Christmas cards and wrap up some presents.   
  
He’d just finished levitating and gluing a large red bow onto Hermione’s present (a book, as usual) when he heard the noise at his door. He sighed and got to his feet. If it was that blasted cat again… If he’d thought Crookshanks was bad…  
  
When Harry opened the door, there was indeed a shape huddled on the floor in front of his apartment door. But it was no animal; it was Draco Malfoy, fumbling with something wrapped in brown paper.   
  
“You’re in!” Draco exclaimed, after he’d looked up and saw Harry. He quickly got to his feet. “I thought you’d be out.” Draco pouted and looked away, futilely attempting to hide the package he’d been holding.   
  
“Yes, I’m home.” Harry said, as soon as he’d regained the ability to speak. He blinked a few times, as if he was sure that when he’d look more closely, it would be revealed that Draco wasn’t  _really_  there. “What are you doing here? How did you find me?”  
  
The initial deer-caught-in-the-headlights expression faded rapidly from Draco’s face. “You’re not hard to find, Harry Potter. When you buy an apartment, it makes the news. How else would your fan mail get to you?”  
  
Harry rolled his eyes. He couldn’t believe his bad luck; his peaceful, solitary evening ruined by Draco Malfoy only to have a ridiculous discussion about the ‘fame thing’ again.   
  
“Have you come to deliver fan mail, Draco?”  
  
“No.” Draco said, embarrassment reddening his cheeks. “I’m bringing you your Christmas present.”  
  
Harry stared at the man facing him. Draco Malfoy suddenly turning up on his doorstep was shocking, but hearing him proclaim he wanted to  _gift_  Harry something made it surreal and quite possibly alarming.   
  
Finally, Draco pushed the parcel he’d been holding in Harry’s hands. “There,” he stated and he turned to leave.   
  
“Wait!”   
  
Draco turned to face him again.  
  
“I don’t understand.” Harry was holding the small parcel in his hand, making no attempt to open it. He continued to stare at Draco, trying to read the man, to find out what had motivated him to drop off some ‘present’ at his apartment, on Christmas Eve.  
  
Draco sighed. “It’s really quite simple. Before you had me portkeyed off to Britain, you handed me a Christmas present, now I give you one in return. It’s only good manners.”  
  
  
“Oh…” Harry’s mind was reeling when he realized Draco was referring to the wand Harry had thrown at him before the portkey dragged him off. “That… That really wasn’t really a present… It wasn’t mine in the first place.”  
  
He bit his lips remembering throwing the wand at Draco, and Draco’s look of surprise and gratitude. It now seemed as if Harry giving Draco back his wand had been some big gesture, when all Harry really did was return something he’d come into possession of by accident of the war.  
  
“Your mother…” Harry continued, determined to set the facts straight once and for all. “She insisted I give you your wand back at the last possible moment. She was afraid you’d bolt; disappear to some remote part of the world. where no one would ever find you.”  
  
Mild irritation flashed in Draco’s gaze, whether it was directed at Narcissa, Harry or the both of them Harry couldn’t tell. But he didn’t demand Harry return the present he’d just received.  
  
“I’m glad you agree my wand wasn’t yours to give.” Draco paused, looking at Harry intently, “but I still owe you. My mother told me how you defended me at the trial held in my absence…. How…” Draco paused to swallow, “How if it hadn’t been for you, I’d be in Azkaban right now, rotting away in some cell, with no hope of ever getting out.”   
  
Draco’s bottom lip trembled as he spoke the words. Harry could see the vision in Draco’s haunted gaze: Draco, skinny from malnourishment, shivering in some dark, damp prison hole, his silvery hair an ugly, pasty grey…   
  
“I owe you my life.” Draco said gravely. “Again…” he added a little grudgingly. “Least I can do is send you a proper gift once a year.”  
  
Harry rubbed his forehead. To think he’d expected a quiet evening.   
  
“Why don’t you come in, Malfoy?” If the man really brought a gift for him, it seemed like the polite thing to do.  
  
“I don’t want to intrude…” Malfoy protested, “I just wanted to leave you the gift…”  
  
But Harry had already turned to re-enter the apartment, holding the door open for Draco.  
  
It felt like a big mistake only seconds later. Harry hadn’t had much company since the move, and the apartment was clearly a work in progress. He could  _see_  Malfoy’s face even without looking at him, all judgemental and condescending. This was _Malfoy_ ; the man had been living in accommodation similar to a five star hotel and called it  _confinement_. Harry’s relatively small, messy flat was certainly substandard to him.   
  
He motioned to the sofa. He quickly picked up a bunch of Christmas cards that were cluttering the piece of furniture and dumped them on a small table to make room for Malfoy. He gestured to the blond man to sit down, which he did, albeit reluctantly.  
  
Draco didn’t comment on the shabbiness of his apartment nor on the mess he’s managed to make in it, even though Harry was sure Draco’s eyes lingered on the pile of laundry in the corner of the room.   
  
“I really just wanted to make sure your gift got to you.” Draco speaks quickly.  
  
But Harry takes his time mulling over the words. “Right, the gift. Why didn’t you just owl it? Seems like a lot of trouble seeking out my address and coming up here on Christmas Eve of all nights…”  
  
Draco sighed. “Anything we send out by owl gets monitored by the Ministry; it’s one of the conditions of our probation. I figured that if I addressed this to you, our history taken into consideration and the simple fact that you are  _Harry Potter_ , the package would never reach you in time. It’d be held up at the Ministry to be tested for all kinds of dark magic. Quite possibly it would never reach you altogether.”  
  
Harry considered those words. It was probably true that the Ministry would never allow mysterious packages to be delivered to him when the sender was a former Death Eater.   
  
“So I figured my best chance was to deliver it at your home.” Draco concluded.  
  
“That’s all very thoughtful of you.” Harry said, only slightly sarcastic.   
  
Draco eyed the paper-wrapped package Harry was still holding. “I didn’t have time to wrap it up properly.”  
  
Harry examined the package and for a moment he felt apprehensive. He knew what Draco Malfoy was capable of; the poisonous liquor, the cursed necklace… Did he really trust Malfoy, who’d pretty much admitted himself that his ‘gift’ would never make it through the Ministry’s tests?   
  
Harry patted the paper; he could feel magic emanating from whatever was inside of it. There was no doubt that the item was magical.   
  
He couldn’t feel any dark magic emanating from the package and Harry did not want to doubt Malfoy, in one move he’d ripped away the paper.  
  
The item revealed was round, like a ball. It was small, could easily be held in one hand. It was made out of glass, but for fine, golden edges. Inside there was a flaring white mist. From the moment Harry laid eyes on it, it struck some distant memory in his mind. It took only a few moments before he recognized the item: it was a Remembrall.   
  
He looked up at Draco in surprise. “A Remembrall?” He asked hesitantly.  
  
Draco looked at the magical device. “Yes. I figured you giving me back my wand was symbolic. I didn’t know what to get you… When I saw this it reminded me of one of our first face-offs. It’s also supposed to be useful, though. Especially since you seem to live such… cluttered existence.”  
  
Finally a jibe at Harry and his apartment. It almost made him smile. Instead he flushed, knowing Draco’s criticism was justified.   
  
He stared at the Remembrall for several moments; weighing it in his hand, watching the white swirls behind the glass. It didn’t turn red, and for that Harry was grateful.  
  
“I only told them the truth, you know.” Harry said breaking the long silence. “At your trial. You really don’t owe me anything.”   
  
Draco rolled his eyes. “I knew you were going to be all noble and Gryffindor about this. Why can’t you just man up and acknowledge that you’re holding a life-debt over my head? My mother sure used that position against you, you’d be a fool not to do the same.”  
  
“What about your mother?” Harry asked. Their entire conversation about life-debts and using those against one another was making him edgy.  
  
“She demanded you to travel to the continent to find me. She would have never dared to ask that of you if she had not known very well that you owed her your life!”  
  
“I didn’t go after you out of some sense of obligation!” Harry protested, “When your mother asked I complied because I genuinely wanted to help her… and you.”  
  
Draco shook his head. “All that big-heartedness should disgust me, but in you it’s just… tragic.”  
  
“Why?” Harry raised his voice, feeling anger rise inside of him. “Why is it so hard to accept that I genuinely cared.”  
  
“About me?” Draco fired back.  
  
Harry flushed. “Yes, about you. I’ve known you for ages…”  
  
“We’ve hated each other for ages.” Draco corrected.  
  
“We’ve been in school together...” Harry offered.  
  
“We were rivals, enemies even.” Draco retorted.  
  
Harry resisted the urge to throw his arms in the air and yell ‘Stop protesting so much!’ to the infuriating blond in front of him.   
  
“Fine. Who am I to stop you from thinking you owe me. Now let me at least thank you for the gift. You may now consider your life-debt evened.”   
  
“It’s not as simple as that,” Draco refuted calmly.  
  
“I didn’t think it would be.” Harry sighed.   
  
“I should go now.” Draco stated.  
  
“Wait.” Harry felt compelled to prevent Draco from leaving; it felt as if his presence was necessary to make some of the pieces fit in his mind. “What were you really doing here, Draco? On Christmas Eve? Why aren’t you at home, celebrating?”  
  
Reluctantly Draco met his eyes. “My mum’s already asleep; post-traumatic stress disorder and all that. I really did come here just to deliver your present. I’d  _assumed_  you’d be out.” Draco explained, “Why weren’t you out?”  
  
Harry felt their roles in the conversation shift; suddenly it was Harry’s turn to be interrogated. “I…” Harry was not good enough a liar to come up with a plausible excuse. “I didn’t want to spend it at the Weasley’s.”   
  
An eyebrow rose inquisitively.  
  
“Ever since things between Ginny and I have been broken off, it’s been awkward. It feels like I can’t really be part of their family anymore.”  
  
He said the words without really meaning to, without consciously putting them in his mouth. With them, he’d voiced something he hadn’t been able to express even to Hermione. He looked away, trying not to look embarrassed.  
  
Draco seemed to process the words quietly. “I read in the papers that everyone was ‘shocked’ when you decided not to marry into the Weasley family… As well as the consternation amongst the public when you dropped out of the Auror-training programme…”  
  
Harry felt Draco had been doing an awful lot of reading during those scant days he’d spend back Britain.   
  
“What are you implying? What do you  _deduce_  from all that?” Harry asked. He didn’t want to sound so upset, but Draco Malfoy of all people unexpectedly prying in his personal affairs… no, not just prying… laying bare so many things he’d repressed… Harry couldn’t stand it.   
  
“I’m simply noticing that you’re not playing the part of ‘war hero’ very well.”  
  
Draco didn’t say the words accusingly; didn’t say them in the way Kingsley spoke to him about his duties towards ‘the people’ and the ‘people’ needing a ‘role model’ and how there were all these  _expectations_. Draco merely registered Harry’s resistance to it all. He even seemed to emanate some sort of  _understanding_  that Harry had yet to encounter in anyone. With that, Harry’s temper cooled down instantly.  
  
“No. I’m not fond of that part at all.”  
  
Draco smiled sadly at him. “You could be Minister of Magic. You could sell thousands of books with your picture on it, like Lockhart. You could choose any job within the Ministry…”  
  
“I don’t want any of that,” Harry said defensively. But there wasn’t really a need to defend, for Draco wasn’t accusing.  
  
“I know.” Draco said solemnly, “You don’t want political power.”  
  
It wasn’t a question. It was also the most unexpected thing Harry had ever heard Malfoy say.   
  
“What about you?” Harry asked finally.   
  
“What about me.” Draco slowly repeated Harry’s question. “I  _do_  want political power.”  
  
Harry mouth dropped slightly open, until he saw the subdued laughter in Draco’s eyes.  
  
“Right.” Harry responded.  
  
Draco’s smile grew into a short, vocal snort. “You don’t understand, Potter. Malfoys engage in politics. It’s always been that way. If not for the war, I could have easily taken office at the Ministry, thanks to my father’s connections. But now… The terms of my probation are clear; I’m not allowed anywhere near the Ministry. And either way, my father’s ‘contacts’ are useless now.”  
  
The tone of Draco’s voice spoke of quiet resignation. It was hard to imagine someone caring so much about politics that they felt their entire purpose in life destroyed when participation in National Politics was taken away from them…  
  
But there was a familiar sadness in Draco’s words. It was becoming more and more obvious to Harry that the both of them were on lost roads. They didn’t know where life was taking them. They could only focus on the fact that they  _were_  alive, when many others had perished.   
  
“We’ll both figure it out.” Harry said hopefully.  
  
Draco shot him a tired smile. “I should really go now.”  
  
Harry didn’t stop him this time, at least not until he stepped out of the door and into the hallway.  
  
“I… Thanks again for your gift… It was very… nice of you to drop by tonight.”  
  
Draco shot him an unreadable look. “You’re welcome, Harry Potter.”  
  
Harry stared at the blond man, and Draco stared back at him, equally intently. It felt as if they could remain standing there, for days to come, just gazing in each other’s eyes. The ridiculousness of that notion crossed Harry’s mind when Draco interrupted his thought process.  
  
“What?” he asked.   
  
Harry almost visibly flinched when those moments of silent staring were interrupted like that.  
  
“What?” he mimicked, alarmed he wrecked his brain for a simple explanation why they were staring at each other like that, were lingering in the doorway like… lovers…  
  
“You look as if you want to kiss me goodnight.” Draco stated bluntly.  
  
“Would you allow me to?” Harry blurted out. Blood rushed to his face, if he could have, he might have taken back the words in that very instant. But there was still Draco’s gazed fixed upon him with intensity.  
  
Draco looked hesitant for a moment, but then something akin to a crooked smile crossed his face. “I probably would.”  
  
Harry let out the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, but a new feeling of apprehension assailed him. “Because of the debt?”  
  
Malfoy snorted. “Don’t be ridiculous.”  
  
Harry’s insides were turning squashier by the second. “Great.”  
  
Draco looked at him inquisitively, one eyebrow raised; almost mocking, but not quite.   
  
“Do you have plans for New Year’s Eve?” Harry finally asked, because it felt like if he’d waited a second longer, Draco would have turned around and left.  
  
“No.” Draco replied simply, without having to think about it.  
  
“Great! Do you want to make some? Plans, I mean.”   
  
The growing smile on Draco’s face made Harry sure the man was silently laughing with him. “Sure. I’ll floo-call you.”  
  
“Right. Great.” Harry managed.  
  
“Different word, Potter.”  
  
“What?”   
  
“You need a different word.” Draco said, now definitely laughing.   
  
“Oh.” He’d never been gifted at all when it came to asking people out, Harry realized; whether it was boys or girls.   
  
Draco stared at him for a long moment and rolled his eyes. “Clearly we’re going to have to work on your verbal skills. What about your non-verbal ones?”  
  
The words barely registered. Harry was focussing too much on Draco’s smooth, calm voice and how his eyes were so intense on Harry. “Eh?” Harry only uttered, when he realized Draco was expecting some sort of response.  
  
“I mean; are you going to kiss me or not?”  
  
That sent a surge of heat up his spine. Kissing… he vaguely recalled not being  _too_  bad at that. But that was before he looked closer at Malfoy and sees his expecting, alert gaze. Suddenly it felt as if he was about to perform at a Hogwarts Potions exam.   
  
Until Harry managed to bring their lips together, perhaps Draco helped a bit with that. But the moment of touch is enough to shut up his mind entirely. Malfoy isn’t at all detached examination; his lips are pliant and responsive and he opens up to Harry so beautifully that Harry forgets all about it. Forgets all about the fact that this is Draco Malfoy – deep down inside something whispers it was a long time coming. He forgets all about the fact that he’s standing in the hallway of essentially a communal space and that any one of the building’s inhabitants could walk in on them.   
  
It seems like hours before they break apart. It’s only when they do that Harry realizes he had his arm wrapped around Draco’s neck and that Draco’s hands were fisting his jumper.   
  
They stared at each other. They were flushed and breathing heavily, eyes glassy and mouth opened halfway. Harry’s gaze fixed on Draco’s lips; how gorgeous they looked, red and puffy and swollen.  
  
Finally Draco broke the silence. “I guess that was goodnight then.” There was a slight tremor in his voice, but he throws Harry a sly smile. It’s all Harry can do to stop him from dragging the blond closer again.  
  
Draco takes a step back, but his eyes look at Harry earnestly.  
  
“Merry Christmas.” Draco said.  
  
“Merry Christmas.” Harry echoed.   
  
Draco shot him another half-smile, Harry wasn’t sure if the smile was meant in mockery or seduction or something else entirely; at that moment, it was the most beautiful thing in the world.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to my beta, celestlyn! And thanks to elpin for providing the inspiring prompt.


End file.
